Reflecting on 20 Years in the Same Place

I've lived in this house for over 20 years. I was 25 when I bought this place. If I make it to 50 without moving, I'll have lived here half of my life. Where did the time go?

Aside from going to work and sleeping, not a lot goes on here, anymore. The first 10 years were pretty full of visitors and music. There is music here a couple of times a month... not a lot of visitors, anymore, though.

I'm here a lot more than I was in the beginning, as well. Weekends seemed to last forever, starting, sometimes, on a Thursday night, picking up again after work Friday, and traveling hither and thither until Sunday night.

I'm not saying I miss that, but I miss the feeling that there was more time. Routine, as comfortable as it may be, makes the time fly.

I'm just too complacent. I need to explore more. I should be living.

In the past, when I've felt this way, some friend would randomly show up and drag me off to a party or some random thing. If not, a girlfriend would make me go out of town or to some night spot. If neither was true, I'd find something to get into.

Now, my friends are old or gone, my girlfriend has too many responsibilities to traipse off on a whim, and I've lived enough to know I'm probably better off on the couch. My smart TV can usually entertain me well enough to make me forget how much time I'm not utilizing. Still, though, my mind has somehow found a way to remember.